


bent out of shape

by favspacetwink, moonlumie



Series: Terminal Curiosity [7]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Collars, Finger Sucking, Light Bondage, M/M, Masochism, Miya Atsumu Being an Idiot, Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Play, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:40:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27810892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/favspacetwink/pseuds/favspacetwink, https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlumie/pseuds/moonlumie
Summary: Atsumu’s face is burning as he steps over to the familiar metal chair, which already has a towel laid over it. He takes a seat, wiggling a little to adjust himself without the use of his hands, and looks up expectantly at Sakusa, who’s watching him with unreadable eyes.He wonders what Sakusa has in store for him today. He’s being just as secretive as the time with the temperature play, but he hasn’t blindfolded him.“Let’s get you out of your head, Atsumu,” Sakusa murmurs.Then he slides down to take a seat on Atsumu’s lap.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Series: Terminal Curiosity [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1921516
Comments: 232
Kudos: 3942
Collections: E-rated fics that belong in the library of congress, Explicit Oneshots, GHFOAT (greatest haikyuu fics of all time), kagsivity's fic archive, ~SakuAtsu~, ♧SakuAtsu Fics♧





	bent out of shape

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [【翻译】如醉如狂](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27937142) by [raojia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raojia/pseuds/raojia)



> Oh Atsumu, we're really in it now. 
> 
> *SPOILERS*  
> OTHER TAGS TO READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION IF YOU WANT TO MAKE SURE THIS IS FREE OF YOUR SQUICKS/TRIGGERS:  
> -Offscreen Miya Atsumu/Male OC  
> -Offscreen unsafe sex involving alcohol use  
> -Offscreen choking during sex  
> *SPOILERS*  
> 
> 
> This is a good time to remind everyone that while there is no true safe way to choke someone, some ways are safer than others.

Atsumu has… feelings.

He’s not an idiot—he knows what it means, the way his heart has started jumping whenever Sakusa’s eyes crinkle at the corners, at a smile or even a soft laugh hidden behind his mask. However, Atsumu also, contrary to what others might say, does have _some_ basic self-preservation instincts. The team they have this year has a real shot at winning the league; the roster and its dynamics need to stay exactly the same as they are now. He doesn’t want to drive Sakusa away or screw up the smooth, seamless flow they have together on the court.

Frankly, Atsumu doesn’t want to give up the smooth, seamless flow they have together in the bedroom either.

So, after spending a few hours at the ass-crack of dawn with his heart stuck in his throat, Atsumu makes the obvious choice and decides not to think about… whatever it is that he feels for Sakusa Kiyoomi.

He decides to stuff it down deep inside until it suffocates or goes away on its own. It shouldn’t be too hard, now that he knows it’s there, that indulging in any of those feelings is a pointless exercise. 

He decides not to think about it, not through the match against the Adlers later that day in Tokyo, when Atsumu makes his play with Sakusa and it successfully makes that little line appear on Tobio-kun’s forehead—the one that means he’s muttering internally and seething with a combination of jealousy and glee.

Atsumu doesn’t think about it back in Osaka. He doesn’t think about it during practice, or team dinners, or during post-game showers.

And he definitely doesn’t think about it when Sakusa wraps him up in black rope, ties a magic wand to his thigh so it presses up right behind his balls, and makes him come— _really_ come—so many times that he cries from the overstimulation when Sakusa fucks him.

Nope. Not at all.

He doesn’t think about it, extremely successfully, for three whole weeks.

He doesn’t think about it, until he does.

“C’mon, Bokuto, you still have a whole set left!”

They’re in the weight room off the practice gym. Atsumu’s rummaging around in the closet looking for a yoga mat to do his cooldown stretches while a couple of his teammates go through the last sets of their weight training.

“Don’t go slacking now,” he hears Sakusa say.

“He’s not slacking, look at him! He’s shaking!” Inunaki’s voice. “And we had the day off yesterday, too—you spend it moving furniture or something?”

A loud _clang,_ followed by a shout. Atsumu needs to find the goddamn mat already so he can get back out there. He doesn’t want to miss the chance to chirp Bokuto.

“I wasn’t lifting furniture!” Bokuto’s indignant voice. “Akaashi’s in town this week, and we—”

“ _Jesus_ , I’m sorry I asked,” Inunaki yells over whatever Bokuto tries to say next. “We don’t need to hear about how you spent it moving your _boyfriend.”_

Atsumu hears Bokuto cackle. “Wait, come back—promise it’s not as dirty as it sounds—”

“It’s too late,” Sakusa says dryly.

“At least you’re still here, Omi-Omi!”

“Yeah, because someone has to spot you if you’re going to keep lifting,” Sakusa says. “It would be irresponsible of me to let you injure yourself just because I don’t want to hear your endless boyfriend stories.”

Bokuto laughs again. “Are you _sure?_ They’re—”

“Disgusting,” Sakusa cuts him off.

Atsumu’s hands curl into foam. The yoga mat. He pulls it quietly off the high shelf as an inexplicable apprehension sends goosebumps breaking out all along his skin.

“Aw, Omi-Omi, are you jealous?”

Sakusa snorts. “I promise you I’m not.”

“C’mon,” Bokuto needles. “I’m not talking about Akaashi, I’m talking in general!”

“Oh, I know,” Sakusa says. “My answer still stands.”

“Are you just super private, then?” Bokuto tries and fails to whisper. “‘Kaashi says sometimes people don’t want to share, but I promise I won’t tell if ya got a secret lover.”

“No. Please don’t say lover,” Sakusa says, sounding like he’s getting closer and closer to walking away from the weight bench and letting fate take its course if Bokuto’s arms give out. 

For his part, Atsumu’s feet feel like they’re bolted to the ground. 

“Omiii,” Bokuto whines. “You’re really gonna be single forever? I told you, Akaashi has this super cute coworker who comes to games with him whenever we play in Tokyo. He’s single and he’s into dudes… you _suuure_ you don’t want his number?”

“First off, no, I don’t want Akaashi-san’s friend’s number. Two, I’m not necessarily going to be single forever,” Sakusa says and Atsumu pathetically perks up, completely against his will. “I just have no intention of seeing anyone more than casually until I’m fully retired from professional volleyball.”

It’s an absolute kick to the ribs. 

The weird thing is, it’s not even the first time Atsumu’s heard Sakusa say something similar. There’s a _reason_ he knew he was doomed the second he realized his feelings.

He can still remember the first time. Sat on a bunch of futons pushed together in a dorm room at the all-Japan youth training camp, a couple of the guys were sharing stories of their crushes and dates back home.

Young Sakusa hadn’t hesitated to share his thoughts on the matter. 

“I don’t see why anyone who’s planning on going pro would bother with long term relationships. If you go to university, you’ll probably have to travel for a good program, and then if you make it pro, almost all of us will play internationally for some of our career—and even if you don’t, you’re still travelling for a significant portion of the year. It’s stupid.”

It’s weird that Atsumu still remembers the words verbatim. He only does because, as seventeen year old, he found the words absolutely _hilarious_. Afterward, Atsumu cackled like a hyena, flopping sideways on his own futon, to the other second year’s vexation. 

Now that he’s not a bastard teenager and has a vested interest in the situation, it _sure_ hits differently.

Atsumu supposes he has to give Sakusa points for being consistent. 

Fuck.

It’s stupid. This whole thing is stupid. He’s just… he’s just a hobby in Sakusa’s world, a way to let off steam around the parts of his life that actually matter to him. 

Atsumu tosses the mat back into the supply closet and heads out of the weight room. Neither Bokuto nor Sakusa notice his hasty exit. He fumes the whole drive back to his apartment. At his situation or at himself, he’s not sure. 

His stomach hurts.

When Atsumu gets home he showers under water hot enough to leave his skin nearly scalded, then pulls on some clean sweats and throws himself dramatically onto his couch. He tosses an arm over the back and splays his knees out, slouching grumpily as he picks up his phone and opens Sakusa’s contact info.

This isn’t a _thing_. It’s a dumb crush, and just because Sakusa is the cause of the problem doesn’t mean he can’t be part of the solution.

 **To:** Omi-Omi  
>> Hey, are u free this weekend? Feeling a little pent up now that we’re on the home stretch of the season. Wanna put me through my paces? ;)

As usual, it doesn’t take too long to get a response. 

**From:** Omi-Omi  
>> Can’t this weekend. Motoya is in town.

Atsumu’s fingers dig into the couch and he feels irrationally annoyed even though he should have already guessed that, since EJP Raijin is visiting. He takes a deep breath and tells himself to chill out. That means Suna will be in town, at least. Atsumu opens up a new message.

 **To:** Samu, Sunarin  
**From:** Miya Atsumu  
>> bitches wanna hang out this weekend ?

 **To:** Sunarin, Miya Atsumu  
**From:** Samu  
>> don’t say bitches  
>> who do you think you are?  
>> also, can’t. in Tokyo over the weekend for the new storefront

 **To:** Samu, Miya Atsumu  
**From:** Sunarin  
>> i can’t either bitches~*~*~  
>> Kana-chan is coming with me to see my family 

Atsumu groans angrily and tosses his phone to the side, not bothering to offer congratulations or participate in Osamu’s mundane niceties about whether or not this is Kana-chan’s first time meeting Suna’s family. He honestly does not care in the slightest.

He huffs and throws an arm over his eyes, kicking his heel up onto his coffee table. 

This is stupid. Atsumu is a twenty-three year old professional athlete. He is, at the moment, extremely and pointedly _not_ in a relationship. There is zero reason he should have to spend a weekend sitting alone in his apartment stewing in his own thoughts. 

He snatches his phone back up off the couch and unlocks it. He swipes over to and decisively opens Grindr for the first time in months. 

Again, what’s a lonely guy who travels a lot supposed to do? 

He goes to his profile and deletes the old bio: _Work pays me to stay fit. Hit me up if ya want to benefit from their money well spent_ 😜

He types out a new, shorter bio, before he can think better of it. It’s simple and straight to the point. 

_I like it rough. Free this Sunday. Hmu._

Then he switches his account to active. 

The MSBY Black Jackals play EJP Raijin on Saturday night. Motoya demands that Kiyoomi take him out to dinner afterward, then spends the night on his couch. The next day he has Kiyoomi give him a “tour of his favorite places in Osaka,” which mostly consists of them going to places that Motoya pre-scouted online instead of places that Kiyoomi actually goes to with any frequency. 

It’s the first time that his cousin has really been able to visit after a game, since EJP had a back to back the last time they played in Osaka, so Kiyoomi doesn’t have much of a leg to stand on when it comes to denying him.

By Sunday evening, they’re sat at a table next to a window in a trendy cafe that Motoya follows on instagram, a number of shopping bags scattered by their feet. Kiyoomi watches with thinly veiled ridicule as Motoya snaps a ridiculous amount of photos of his coffee and cake to his teammates. 

“I’m making fun of Sunarin,” Motoya explains. 

“I don’t get it.”

“It’s an inside joke,” Motoya asks. “Have you ever heard of those? They’re running humorous gags you have—”

“I know what an inside joke is,” Kiyoomi cuts off his teasing, ignoring Motoya’s self-satisfied laughter to look out the window. 

There’s a dog tied up to a bike rack underneath the cafe awning. It’s fluffy, white, and spotted. It looks in through the window and makes eye contact with Kiyoomi, wagging its tail. It has a yellow spot on the top of its head, going half way down its forehead and covering one ear. 

Kiyoomi snorts.

“What?” Motoya asks. 

“That dog looks like Atsumu.”

“Miya?” Motoya leans over the table to see, “Ah! You’re kinda right! Also, look who’s on a first name basis with their teammates! I’m so proud of you.”

Kiyoomi narrows his eyes. He still usually refers to Atsumu as Miya, but the more familiar name slipped out around Motoya. Feeling more exposed than he has any business being over a name, Kiyoomi deflects.

“I called you by your first name when we were on the same team.”

Motoya cackles.

“Oh my god, we’re literally _cousins._ ”

Kiyoomi shrugs and takes a sip of his espresso. There’s a comfort in the well worn roles that he and Motoya have developed and played out over the years, in spite of Kiyoomi’s outward prickliness. The dog outside tilts its head to the side and then scratches its ear. 

Motoya glances at the canine again and then perks up. “You should send a photo to your teammates!”

“Why?” Kiyoomi asks and Motoya sighs.

“Because they’ll think it’s funny!” he says, ever the social coordinator where Kiyoomi is concerned. “Just trust me and do it, ok?”

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes. He has long discovered that it’s easier to just go along with it and comply when it comes to Motoya’s more casual whims. It makes Kiyoomi feel less bad when he shuts him down hard for things he _really_ doesn’t want to do. So, he pulls out his phone and dutifully snaps a picture of the dog, then opens the unfortunately-named team group chat that he often mutes. 

“Write ‘Dogtsumu’.”

“I’m not doing that.”

 **To:** MSBY Black Jackasses  
**From:** _Sakusa Kiyoomi_  
>> *pic attached*  
>> This dog looks like Miya.

“Ats-inu,” Motoya tries again as Kiyoomi goes to set his phone down.

“I already sent it. It’s too late.”

Before he can even look up, though, the phone begins to buzz. 

**To:** MSBY Black Jackasses  
**From:** _Oliver Barnes_  
>> Oh my god is this a message from Omi-kun that ISNT an article about a health advisory?

 **To:** MSBY Black Jackasses  
**From:** _Inunaki Shion_  
>> Or a reminder to get our flu shots! (I got mine btw)

 **To:** MSBY Black Jackasses  
**From:** _Hinata Shouyou_  
>> Wow!!! It does look like him!

 **To:** MSBY Black Jackasses  
**From:** _Bokuto Koutarou_  
>> *pic attached*  
>> I googled pictures of more dogs. This one looks like Akaashi.  
>> *pic attached*  
>> And this one looks like Hinata!

Kiyoomi looks down at the photos of dogs that bear no resemblance to the people Bokuto is claiming beyond the fact that one is black and one is orange. He decisively sets his phone down. 

“Anyway, how’s the season going in general? You working on anything specific?”

Kiyoomi ignores his phone for the next hour or two, until he and Motoya getting ready to leave. When he glances at it, the group chat is primarily full of animal photos from Bokuto, Hinata, and Barnes, declaring shakier and shakier resemblances to people they know. One of the last messages does catch his eye though. 

**To:** MSBY Black Jackasses  
**From:** _Meian Shugou_  
>> What? No rebuttal from the man the myth the legend himself? Bet Atsumu-kun just knows there’s no way he’s as cute as that pup. 

It was sent about twenty minutes previously; there hasn’t been a single message from Atsumu before or after that. Which, as Meian is implying, is... weird. Atsumu is one of the absolute most active members in the group chat, constantly responding to others’ messages and sending a fair few of his own—from fitness articles to shirtless ‘inspo’ selfies that get him temporarily kicked out of the group chat at least once a week.

Hell, even after a scene, Atsumu usually has his phone within arm’s reach, shooting off some messages or scrolling instagram as he comes back down to earth. 

When Kiyoomi gets home, around ten in the evening, there’s still no sign of Atsumu in the group chat. He’s not sure why it’s even garnering a second thought, let alone making some strange instinct twinge in his gut.

Whatever the reason, Kiyoomi opens a separate text message as he’s getting ready for bed.

 **To:** Miya Atsumu  
>> Are you alright?

It’s not very like him, but there’s _something_ about Atsumu’s silence, and he did mention last week that he’s been a bit stressed…

Kiyoomi mentally shakes himself as he gets in the shower and under the hot water. There’s no response when he’s finished, nor when he gets into bed. With a final hum of discontent, Kiyoomi rolls over and goes to sleep. 

“That was fun. Give me a call if you ever want a round two.”

“I’ll do that,” Atsumu rasps, throat rough from the alcohol they drank at the bar earlier, from the… from the...

Atsumu shuts the front door to his apartment with a ringing finality. The _click_ of the latch sounds through the apartment like a bubble popping. Any momentary relief is gone in an instant. Atsumu’s body hurts and his head is already starting to follow. 

Stupid. That was _so much_ stupid at one time.

Atsumu heads towards the bathroom, ignoring the sharp twinging in his back and even lower in favor of scrubbing the night off of him as soon as possible. Who knew writing ‘I like it rough’ in a grindr bio would be the siren call to every meathead fuckboy in the greater Osaka metro? Not that Atsumu’s one to talk. And… well, he probably should have guessed—probably knew _exactly_ what he was doing the second he hit ‘post’. 

Atsumu catches sight of his naked body in the mirror and his eyes widen.

“Shit,” he curses, stumbling closer to the vanity, fingers curling around the edge as he leans in to see his reflection. 

Damn his fragile skin. 

Atsumu cranes his head to the side and lets his own fingers trail over the series of fingerprint-shaped bruises on his neck. In the right light, and to the uneducated observer, they’ll look like hickeys.

Unfortunately, the very person he spent the night trying to drive out of his head is _not_ uneducated. Not anywhere close to it. The thought brings Sakusa right back to the forefront of Atsumu’s mind as a sick, ephemeral dread pools in his stomach.

He hurts, and not in the way he usually likes.

 _“Shit,”_ Atsumu says again, tearing his eyes away from his throat and scanning over the evidence of his more... _mundane_ bad decisions, all over his hips and thighs. 

He looks away from those bruises too. He takes a shower hot enough to leave his skin pink and stinging, his bones feeling increasingly like lead as the alcohol, adrenaline, and endorphins leave his system. 

Atsumu left his phone in the kitchen when he and his ‘new friend’ stumbled into his apartment. He goes to retrieve it now, wincing as he sees a flood of messages from his teammates. Ah, well. All of those can be responded to later or ignored. 

There’s also a message from the one person that makes his gut swoop like he’s falling off a cliff. Every cell in his body knows he’s doomed when it comes to Sakusa, but some senseless part of him is still so weak. When Atsumu thinks about him these days, his stomach does a somersault all the way from his throat to his toes and back. 

This time, it doesn’t float back up. Instead it just drops right through his feet and splats pathetically against the earth. He opens the message with shaking fingers. 

**From:** Omi-Omi  
>> Are you alright?

Atsumu’s mouth pinches and wobbles; his raw throat nearly closes up completely. 

“What th’fuck, Omi,” Atsumu whispers down at his phone. 

He’s not going to _cry_. He’s not. 

Atsumu types out a quick, placating reply, hands still trembling. He’s not even sure what he types. It’s all so stupid, is the thing—this situation he’s got himself into. Because it’s his fault, all of it. Sakusa made it abundantly clear right from the beginning that it was just some kind of… _arrangement,_ for him. Atsumu’s the one who fucked up and then went out and made it even worse.

It all feels like too much. 

It’ll be fine, he tells himself as he stumbles towards bed and pitches himself forward. It’ll feel better in the morning, he tells himself, curling into a tight ball under his covers. His brow furrows and he repeats it again and again as he turns over to avoid the unfamiliar scent on his sheets.

It’ll all be better tomorrow. 

The next morning, Kiyoomi wakes up to an unread message notification. It’s time-stamped a little before midnight. 

**From:** Miya Atsumu  
>> Hey, sorry! I’m good. Was out with a friend all evening and wasn’t paying attention to my phone. See you at practice. 

Kiyoomi feels a bit dumb reading the message, dumb for sending his own in the first place. He’s sure Atsumu has lots of friends in the city, considering he grew up in the area. Even if it is a little weird Atsumu wouldn’t have his phone on him, with the way that he is, Kiyoomi still feels like he overreacted. He scrubs a hand over his face and goes to get ready for practice.

He goes through his morning routine feeling a little annoyed with himself, trying to shake it off by the time he walks through the doors of the training complex. 

Kiyoomi doesn’t notice Atsumu enter the locker room when the other man finally arrives. What he _does_ notice is the sudden chorus of whistling and hooting. 

“Holy shit, Miya!”

“Are those hickeys, Tsum-Tsum?!” Bokuto’s voice rings out at way too high a volume for the question.

Clearly Meian thinks so too. “Damnit, Bokkun, have some decorum. Though… yeah, it looks like you went a couple rounds with a vampire, Atsumu-kun.”

Sakusa freezes half way through pulling his practice jersey on. Oh… _that_ kind of friend. Well, Atsumu’s lack of response makes a lot more sense now. He frowns and pulls the jersey down the rest of the way.

There’s a high crow of laughter from Atsumu as he waves everyone off. Kiyoomi pushes through the chill in his gut and finishes putting on his gear, getting ready to head out onto the court. He sends a side glance towards Atsumu, loading a sharp barb about professionalism onto his tongue. Then his eyes lock onto the marks on Atsumu’s neck and the insult screeches to a halt and dies on his lips. 

He’s frozen in place again, processing the bruises that the rest of the team mistook for hickeys.

Atsumu looks like a deer in headlights under his gaze, all humor vanished from his eyes. 

“Bathroom,” he squeaks and vanishes into the depths of the locker room.

Kiyoomi just stands there, frozen blood beginning to boil, the bruises left by _fingers_ on Atsumu’s neck burned onto his retinas. 

That… stupid _fucking_ idiot. 

Atsumu avoids Sakusa with all powers available to him during practice. He even tells Coach Foster that he landed on his ankle funny during warm-ups as an excuse to spend the entirety of spiking drills with their athletic trainer getting checked out. He knows he can’t avoid Sakusa forever, but if he can just hold up until the bruises fade a little...

It’s just as he’s walking back out on the court that he remembers that makeup exists to cover bruises—makeup Sakusa _gave him_ when they started doing this—and hates himself all over again. How could he have forgotten? Where the fuck is his head at? This could have been pushed off for a while but _no_ , Atsumu thought he would just waltz into practice with a neck full of—

He should have called out sick.

If only he wasn’t so damn dedicated to volleyball. He clenches his fists and mentally pats himself on the back for being so reliable and motivated. Then he heads over to the exact opposite side of the courts as Sakusa. He glances at the clock to confirm that they only have about fifteen minutes before individual practice. 

When the time finally ticks down, Atsumu picks a corner to do individual drills for as long as he can possibly stand. He thinks he sees Sakusa eyeing him, but he’s managed to place himself strategically between Meian, Hinata, and Bokuto working on blocks and the wall. He keeps up his solitary routine until he sees Sakusa leave, breathing out a sigh of relief. 

He waits for a little longer after that, outstaying even Hinata, who looks over his shoulder as he’s grabbing his things.

“You’re not done yet, Atsumu-san?”

“Naw, have a little extra energy since I spent some time with the trainer,” Atsumu waves him off.

“Don’t overwork yourself,” Hinata says. “Overtraining is just as bad as undertraining.”

He says it so earnestly that it reminds Atsumu of Kita, where you can’t even be annoyed at the unsolicited advice. He catches the ball he’d been bouncing against the wall between his palms and smiles at Hinata, the realest grin that’s touched his face in a few days. 

“I’ll head out in just’a few minutes,” Atsumu says and Hinata smiles, giving him a nod before heading towards the locker rooms.

It gives Atsumu the courage to leave the court just a few minutes later. He peeks in the doorway, looking this way and that to make sure the room is empty besides the hissing of a single shower head as Hinata cleans up. 

Atsumu lets out a sigh of relief and quickly undresses and hops in the shower himself. Fifteen minutes later he’s heading down the stairs to the parking garage beneath the training facility, a scarf wrapped tight around his neck. He’s flipping through his phone and is therefore completely taken off guard when, in the stairwell, a fist suddenly curls into his coat and he’s pressed up against the wall.

“Shit!” Atsumu exclaims, phone jumping out of his hands and clattering to the concrete. “Hey!”

He looks up from his downed phone and meets a pair of flinty black eyes. His stomach drops. 

Atsumu had wanted to avoid any awkward interactions with Sakusa, but he hadn’t expected him to be _this_ furious.

Well… maybe he did, deep down, and that’s why he tried to hide from him, like a mouse from a hungry hawk. Still, Sakusa’s sharp eyes apparently didn’t miss.

“Those aren’t hickeys, Miya.”

Straight for the jugular, Atsumu thinks hysterically. 

Sakusa’s words are tight and clipped, each one dropping like a stone onto Atsumu’s chest. They sting, too. Sakusa hasn’t called him Miya when they’re alone, outside the occasional deadpan remark, in months. Atsumu’s mouth seems to react on its own, defensive and too stupid to shut up.

“What, are ya jealous, Omi?”

The way that Sakusa’s eyes widen and flash make Atsumu _immediately_ regret speaking. The fist in his coat tightens. 

“Don’t even start,” Sakusa hisses. “Are those what I think they are, yes or _no?”_

The question brooks no lies or denial, but the words have dried up in Atsumu’s throat. He lowers his gaze, but that’s answer enough. 

_“Damnit,”_ Sakusa says and Atsumu sags against the wall a little as he’s let go. He feels Sakusa’s eyes burning into him and knows the question that’s coming next. It’s the one that will seal his fate. “Who?”

If it were anyone else, Atsumu might feel vindicated to get this much of a rise out of the person he has unrequited feelings for. Isn’t that why people usually go out and sleep with someone else? Hoping to get attention and spark something? Atsumu doesn’t pull his eyes off the ground, sinking into his own head a little.

He’s sees Sakusa’s hands ball up into fists in his periphery.

“Who did you let _choke_ you?”

Atsumu flinches. There it is. Right out in the open. 

He feels angry with himself, for so many different reasons, so he fashions a series of words into a double-edged sword. He tips his head back against the wall and meets Sakusa’s eyes with his own hooded gaze, feeling hollow as he lets a smirk pull at his lips. 

“Found someone on a dating app who was willin’ ta have mildly rough sex with me,” Atsumu can’t stop himself from saying. “Like ya said, wasn’t hard ta find a volunteer.”

Sakusa’s jaw drops a bit. 

“You fucking moron _._ ”

It’s not even the reaction Atsumu hoped for, because this _isn’t_ a case of petty jealousy, which Atsumu knows deep down. Atsumu wasn’t avoiding him for _that_ reason. He wishes—but no. That’s not the problem.

No, the fact is that Atsumu let some random fuckboy choke him during sex. _Really_ choke him. Not an experienced dom, not anyone who knew what they were doing or how to do it safely. Just a twenty-something stranger fueled by overconfidence and too much whiskey running through his veins. Atsumu let him wrap his fingers around his neck and squeeze _hard_ —his airway feels like it’s closing all over again just thinking about it.

The shock on Sakusa’s face morphs back into stormclouds, brow furrowing darkly as both hands come up to fist in Atsumu’s jacket. He nearly pulls him up onto his toes; his next words hit Atsumu like a punch right to the lungs, knocking the fight from him in one fell swoop.

“People _die_ that way, Atsumu!”

They hang in the air of the stairwell, painful and too real. 

Any bravado left in Atsumu completely disappears as reality crashes down around him. The fear and regret that he’d been displacing, shoving deep down where he doesn’t have to face it, suddenly settles heavily in his chest. It’s crushing, the truth that Atsumu had been avoiding, the knowledge of what could have happened.

Atsumu inhales sharply and his lip wobbles. His hands shake, instinctively holding onto Sakusa’s forearms. 

Sakusa’s right. Atsumu _knows_ that. He did the readings, did his research. He’s been doing this long enough to know. 

“I… I fucked up,” Atsumu says, voice thin and cracking. “We were drinking and when it got rough it escalated and I—I didn’t mean.. I didn’t _plan…_ ”

Sakusa releases him, the raging fire in his eyes settling into embers and then going out completely. Their hands drop, Atsumu’s sliding off Sakusa’s even though he’d like to hold on. His knuckles knock against the cold concrete wall of the stairwell. 

Atsumu sees Sakusa’s fingers stretch out wide before relaxing. He sighs heavily and turns away, slowly going to pick his duffle up, which Atsumu now notices was sitting by the door to the parking garage. He must have been waiting for Atsumu. Now it looks like he may have come to regret that decision.

Atsumu uses every remaining fiber of strength in him to stop himself from actually crying as Sakusa hefts the bag onto his shoulder. Something like panic flutters beneath his ribs.

“I’m sorry,” Atsumu blurts, ready to get down on his knees, to say whatever he has to to stop Sakusa walking out that door. It feels like, if that happens, maybe that’s it. It’ll be over. It’s suffocating, makes fire crawl up Atsumu’s throat. “Please... don’t go.”

It’s pathetic. Atsumu wants to melt into the wall, but it makes Sakusa freeze and look at him again.

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Atsumu tries again.

Sakusa huffs out a frustrated breath.

“It’s not… you don’t have to apologize to _me_ ,” he starts and stops. “It’s just _so_ fucking dangerous, Atsumu.”

“I know,” Atsumu agrees quickly this time. “It was a huge, dumbass mistake. I didn’t wanna think about it _because_ you’re right. I’d never—not again—”

Sakusa’s brow is still furrowed deeply. He lets out another puff of air but it doesn’t sound angry, more like a release of exasperated tension. 

“Look… with that, and the fact that alcohol was involved, you’re going to need to get another STI screening before we play again,” Sakusa says. 

His tone implies he expects Atsumu to argue or to defend himself, but all Atsumu hears is _before we play again_ —there’s going to be a next time. Sakusa suffers no fools and Atsumu thought… well, he was worried that this would be it. He was almost sure of it.

He feels vulnerable and a bit silly but he can’t help the way he perks up, tripping over himself to agree.

“Of course,” Atsumu says. “No problem.”

Sakusa tilts his head to the side in what looks like surprise. It finally seems like most of the tension is starting to bleed out of the room. 

“And I’ll get one too, I suppose,” he says. “We should be getting them regularly anyway.”

Atsumu is nodding. Sure, whatever Sakusa says. Silence hangs between them for a few seconds, neither quite sure where they go from here. Too nervous to piss Sakusa off again or say something stupid, Atsumu keeps his trap shut and waits for Sakusa to take the lead. 

After a few extended seconds, he sighs heavily again and pulls a mask out of his pocket. His shoulders hunch up as if he’s trying to shield himself from the intensity of what just went down. Atsumu gets it.

“Let’s go to that coffee shop on the corner,” he finally says. 

It’s the one the team frequents after practice. It’s barely an invitation, but on the Omi Scale of Thoughtfulness it’s the highest Atsumu has ever seen outside of a scene. Huh. Maybe Sakusa’s dom senses are tingling. 

Some aftercare _would_ be nice, Atsumu thinks.

“Yeah, please,” Atsumu says, and feels himself flush as the please slips out. It still doesn’t stop him from scrambling to pick his own bag and phone back up. “Lemme just put my stuff in my car.”

Sakusa nods, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He’s giving off the general energy of a wet cat at the moment, but honestly it’s a welcome taste of normalcy between them. It’s still not enough for Atsumu to make fun of him for it, though. They’re not back there yet. 

Instead they walk through the parking lot and then into the cold February air together, in a silence more companionable than Atsumu’s remembered feeling for a while. 

They don’t talk much at the coffee shop. Kiyoomi sips his coffee and people-watches through the window while Atsumu browses his phone and keeps shooting him not-so-covert little glances. There’s a weird sense of simultaneous relief and agitation, likely stemming from the fact that his morning sucked but could have ended by sucking even worse, but luckily didn’t.

Atsumu seems genuinely and deeply regretful, once the defensiveness broke down, which leads Kiyoomi to believe this was in fact an isolated aberration. 

He obviously wishes it never happened at all, but… he sighs again, strict upbringing the only thing preventing him from antsily picking at his paper cup. 

When their drinks are getting low, Kiyoomi finally speaks. 

“I’m free as early as Wednesday,” he says, drawing Atsumu’s full attention. “Though we do have two games a bunch of practices between now and our off-day next Monday.”

There’s a part of Kiyoomi that wants to get them behind closed doors as soon as possible and let this tension out in the form of some well-placed pain and pleasure. The other half of him thinks they might need some time to cool down.

“Um… Monday would be good I think,” Atsumu says, awkwardly adjusting his scarf which he’s thankfully kept on.

Right… Kiyoomi also would prefer for those marks to have faded by the time he has to get near them. Just thinking about the lines and spots of pale purple… he takes another steadying breath as his heart speeds up uncomfortably. 

“Sounds good,” Kiyoomi agrees. 

“Great,” Atsumu says and Kiyoomi nods once and looks back out the window.

With the plan solidified it does feel like he can breathe a little easier. He inhales deeply, catching the rich scent of coffee and just a hint of what he’s pretty sure is Atsumu’s bodywash. 

He’s pretty familiar with it, by now. 

The next week goes quickly. Kiyoomi hadn’t exaggerated their busy schedule in the face of the home stretch of the season. By Monday, however, Kiyoomi is _antsy_. He realizes this is the longest he and Atsumu have gone between sessions since the second or third scene they did together.

There’s an electric thrum under his skin when he wakes up. He knows that he wants to do something new today, something that will blow Atsumu’s mind. Something good enough that even if they couldn’t play for another two weeks, Atsumu would still be satisfied.

So satisfied he wouldn’t need to go looking for dating-app strangers to rough him up.

Kiyoomi squashes the unwelcome thought down. 

While the biggest issue was obviously Atsumu’s absolute disregard for safety, Kiyoomi would be lying if his pride hadn’t been stung. He’s sure he would feel differently if Atsumu had just been hooking up. He understands that sometimes people want vanilla sex, even though he himself has been pretty satisfied without it. 

But, even though he went about it in the dumbest way, Atsumu did imply roughness was part of what he was looking for, which makes Kiyoomi wonder if there’s some itch he’s not scratching for Atsumu. He wonders what he hasn’t been doing that Atsumu wants. The thought doesn’t sit right with him.

Again, it would be different if Atsumu was previously in the community, had relationships with other doms and subs, but… up until this point, Kiyoomi had been pretty sure that Atsumu had no complaints about their scenes and no reason to look elsewhere.

Over breakfast he fires off a text to Atsumu. They’ve actually been texting a little more frequently than normal over the past week. Initially, Kiyoomi just wanted to check in, considering… and then Atsumu seemed to take it as an open invitation to start texting him about things unrelated to BDSM, be it volleyball or a place in Tokyo that Osamu mentioned to Atsumu after his most recent trip. 

**To:** Atsumu  
>> Is there anything in particular you want to do tonight? Maybe something we haven’t done yet?

It only takes a minute to get a response. 

**From:** Atsumu  
>> Whatever you want! Surprise me >:) 

Kiyoomi scowls. That is _not_ helpful. 

He scoops another bite of rice into his mouth and chews grumpily. Kiyoomi thinks back to an earlier thought about what Atsumu might be missing, about things he might not expect. He swallows and hums, an idea forming and then crystalizing.

A slow smile spreads across Kiyoomi’s face. Yes… perhaps it’s time to turn the tables on Atsumu. 

Atsumu arrives around seven, bearing a box of macarons that Osamu apparently brought back from Tokyo. Sakusa would be more interested if he wasn’t already driven to distraction by what he has planned. He did most of the preparation before Atsumu arrived, and he’s already dressed in dark grey slacks and a navy shirt.

Atsumu takes one look at Kiyoomi and his macaron commentary dies. He literally throws the box onto the counter and then immediately turns to go down the hall.

“Hopping in the shower!”

Kiyoomi can’t help but chuckle as he finishes rolling up the sleeves of the button down. 

“Meet me in the bedroom when you’re done,” he calls after Atsumu, fairly unnecessarily, as he hears the guest bathroom door slam.

Kiyoomi goes down the hall himself to review his set up. He has the chair positioned near the end of the bed. A towel on the foot of the bed covers some items that Kiyoomi wants to keep hidden from Atsumu until he’s ready for them. The fur-lined cuffs and gold lined collar sit on top, waiting. 

Only a few minutes pass before Atsumu appears in the doorway, though he hesitates there. Kiyoomi can’t help but look him up and down. His breath stutters at the few bruises still marking up his skin. Some are easy to pretend came from volleyball, but others are more difficult. To pretend, and just to look at.

Kiyoomi steadies himself. Atsumu is fine, he reminds himself. Lots of people make mistakes when entering the scene, and Atsumu seems to have learned from it. Nothing left to do but move forward, Kiyoomi tells himself. 

“Come here, Atsumu.”

First things first. 

Kiyoomi feels a sick, grim sort of satisfaction when he buckles the collar around Atsumu’s throat, covering up most of the fading bruises with one simple action. The few that peek around the collar’s edges aren’t large or obvious enough that they kill the mood.

Atsumu’s eyes are wide, his chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths. He reaches up to brush a hand over the leather, as if confirming it’s there. 

Like he missed it.

Kiyoomi just barely stops his lip from curling. “Hands behind your back.”

Atsumu is quick to obey. Kiyoomi can’t help but wonder if Atsumu was this eager to submit for the irresponsible asshole that left those marks all over him. 

He takes a deep breath in through his nose. _Focus._

Kiyoomi turns to pick up the fur-lined leather cuffs, already attached to each other by a single chain link. When he turns back, dangling the cuffs from one finger, Atsumu is watching him, teeth sunk into his lower lip.

“Turn around,” Kiyoomi murmurs.

Atsumu takes a deep breath and does as instructed, turning to reveal strong shoulder blades bunched together and arms crossed at the wrist just above his ass. In fact, the pose frames his ass so nicely that for a single second Kiyoomi almost reconsiders his plans for the entire scene.

Almost. He’s already done all of the prep work for his original plan, and he doesn’t want to waste the opportunity to see Atsumu fall apart an entirely new way.

Atsumu shifts a little on his feet but stays quiet as Sakusa fastens the cuffs around his wrists, one after the other. His nerves are settling with every second that ticks by; he never really thought for a second that Sakusa would let anger follow him into the bedroom and influence his actions, but some small part of him couldn’t shake the worry. Now, though, Sakusa’s actions are calm and focused, just like every other time they’ve done this.

It makes Atsumu feel safe, but just the slightest bit disappointed. It might help to soothe the guilt constantly simmering underneath Atsumu’s skin if Sakusa took out any lingering irritation in the form of a rough punishment. 

_You’d probably enjoy the punishment anyway,_ a voice in Atsumu’s head tells him. _You don’t even deserve that._

“Atsumu.”

Sakusa’s voice startles Atsumu out of his intrusive thoughts. “Y-yeah?”

“What’s your color?”

He definitely knows Atsumu is having trouble settling down. “Green. I just… m’in my head a little. Sorry.”

“I can tell,” Sakusa says. Atsumu feels a hand brush over the nape of his neck, right above where the collar’s sitting secure around his throat, and shivers. “You don’t have to apologize. Go sit down.”

Atsumu’s face is burning as he steps over to the familiar metal chair, which already has a towel laid over it. He takes a seat, wiggling a little to adjust himself without the use of his hands, and looks up expectantly at Sakusa, who’s watching him with unreadable eyes.

He wonders what Sakusa has in store for him today. He’s being just as secretive as the time with the temperature play, but he hasn’t blindfolded him.

“Let’s get you out of your head, Atsumu,” Sakusa murmurs.

Then he slides down to take a seat on Atsumu’s lap.

Atsumu’s brain screeches to a halt.

“Yes, like that,” Sakusa says, then takes Atsumu’s face between his hands and kisses him hard.

Atsumu gasps into his mouth, then moans when Sakusa’s tongue strokes against his own. He jerks as he tries to reflexively wrap his arms around Sakusa’s waist, stopped by the cuffs keeping his hands behind his back. Oh god, he can’t touch him, Atsumu wants to touch him—

Sakusa sighs, a low, pleased sound, and lets go of Atsumu’s face, sliding one hand down play with the edge of Atsumu’s collar and the other into his hair as he licks into his mouth and kisses him like he owns him. Atsumu keeps struggling against the cuffs until Sakusa rolls his hips in a slow, lazy grind forward, dragging the rough material of his slacks over Atsumu’s bare cock.

 _“Mmnnh,”_ Atsumu gasps, shivering as he sucks on Sakusa’s tongue.

His hips twitch pathetically when Sakusa does it again, feeling the bulge of Sakusa’s cock through the fabric against his own.

“Mmm,” Sakusa hums. He pulls back from the kiss just a few inches, licking his lips, then glances down between them. Atsumu follows his gaze and blushes when he sees a thin string of precome stretched between the tip of his dick and the small wet spot now smeared on Sakusa’s pants. “Messy.”

_Oh my god, he’s gonna kill me._

“It’s okay,” Sakusa murmurs, reaching down to circle one fingertip around his leaking cockhead. Atsumu’s thighs tense and he moans, face heating further when more precome beads out at Sakusa’s touch. “I know you can’t help it.”

 _Jesus._ Atsumu shuts his eyes and bites his lip; he’s already trembling and they’ve barely started. It’s like the past few months didn’t even happen and they’re doing a scene together for the very first time. It’s hot, but it’s a little overwhelming, and now he’s gone and ruined Sakusa’s pants.

“M’sorry,” Atsumu mumbles, gasping when Sakusa teases his finger against the slit of his cock, pressing in just enough to make him squirm. “Yer pants…”

“Don’t worry about it, Atsumu.” There’s that gentle voice, Atsumu’s favorite. He melts against the back of the chair and watches with eager disbelief as Sakusa brings his hand up to hover in front of his face. His fingers are long and pale, the tips gleaming as they draw closer. Atsumu’s mouth waters. It’s almost like… he’s offering… “I can always buy another pair.” 

Atsumu’s mouth falls open when he realizes Sakusa’s really going to let him suck on his fingers without gloves on. He fights back a whimper when Sakusa touches his bottom lip, slick and oh-so-soft, tracing around the outline of his mouth, then makes the mistake of locking eyes with him right when salt bursts on his tongue.

Oh, _fuck._ Sakusa’s gaze is so intense Atsumu feels pinned, rooted to the spot and helpless in the very best way as Sakusa rubs along the flat of his tongue with his bare fingers. Atsumu’s breathing fast, he can’t help it; he blinks slowly once, twice before he closes his lips around Sakusa’s fingers and lets his eyes flutter shut. _He’s licking his own precome off of Sakusa’s fingers._

He sucks lightly and hears Sakusa draw in a sharp breath. 

“Mmn. Then again,” Sakusa murmurs, petting Atsumu’s tongue, “I should probably take these off before they get any messier.”

 _That_ makes Atsumu’s eyes pop open again. Sakusa smirks at whatever expression must be showing on his face, lips quirking in a sly hint of a smile that makes Atsumu feel warm all over even when Sakusa pulls his fingers out and gets off his lap. He watches as Sakusa undoes his slacks and pulls them down over each leg, almost impossibly graceful considering that he’s as hard as Atsumu underneath his boxer briefs.

Which he pulls off next.

 _“Omi,”_ Atsumu breathes.

He flushes, wondering how he’s supposed to control himself when Sakusa is showing more skin than he ever has during any of their other scenes. 

Sakusa stops there, though, leaving the button-down on as he gives his clothes a cursory fold and deposits them on the bed. He pulls something— _two_ somethings—from underneath the towel at the foot of the bed before returning to Atsumu’s lap.

“Open.”

Caught up in the warmth of Sakusa on top of him and the barely-there brush of their cocks together, Atsumu stares at him dumbly for a few moments before realizing that Sakusa’s talking about his mouth. He parts his lips expectantly, lower half burning with want as Sakusa presses a little closer. 

“Hold onto this for me, hm?”

Before Atsumu can react, Sakusa slips the edge of a foil packet— _a condom—_ between his teeth. Atsumu closes around it on reflex, thoroughly confused but throbbing with excitement.

“Good boy.”

The praise slides over him like honey. Atsumu shivers, suddenly unable to meet Sakusa’s eyes.

He looks down at Sakusa’s hands instead, which is when he remembers that Sakusa carried something else over with him. A chain, from the looks of it. Is he going to chain Atsumu’s cuffed hands to the chair? Wait, no, there are fancy clips on the ends. Actually, they’re more like—

_Oh._

Atsumu snaps his mouth shut just in time to stop the condom packet from falling out. 

“I haven’t been giving your nipples enough attention lately,” Sakusa murmurs, reaching up to pluck at one of the sensitive buds. He pinches it and Atsumu whimpers, cock twitching and bumping Sakusa’s. “See? Look how bad you need it.”

Atsumu doesn’t want to respond and risk dropping the condom from his mouth. Maybe that’s why Sakusa asked him to hold it. He ducks his head, shuddering as Sakusa rolls his nipple between patient fingers.

“And you like pain everywhere else, so…”

A _sharp_ pinch. Atsumu grunts, squeezing his eyes shut as his dick jumps again. Sakusa chuckles and it makes the tips of Atsumu’s ears burn.

“I want to see how you handle clamps.”

A whimper slips from Atsumu’s mouth despite his best efforts. Sakusa pinches his nipple again, digging his nail into the tender flesh as pain blooms furiously underneath his skin, and Atsumu arches his back so sharply he nearly bucks Sakusa right off of him.

The next touch to his nipple comes in a small flick of Sakusa’s finger, teasing it now that the little bud is hard and perky. Atsumu keeps his eyes shut tight; he doesn’t want to see how vulnerable he looks, how much his nipples stick out from his chest with just the slightest bit of attention. He doesn’t want to see when Sakusa approaches him with the clamp.

He’s afraid he’ll lose his nerve.

 _“O’ii,”_ he whines, keeping the condom wrapper clenched tightly between his teeth. 

“Shhh,” Sakusa whispers, flicking his nipple again, back and forth as Atsumu tries to brace himself.

Sakusa takes his finger away. One second passes. Two. Atsumu’s tensed up all over, back ramrod straight. Then—

He doubles forward in agony and howls through his clenched teeth at the crushing pain that bursts to life in his nipple. His chest is on fire, every nerve ending firing at once. It’s _enduring,_ too, doesn’t fade like it normally does when Sakusa pinches him with his fingers.

_“Mmmnnnnngh!”_

Atsumu ends up with his forehead pressed against Sakusa’s chest, bent over and shivering. He hears Sakusa laugh, feels a hand carding through his hair. Fuck, it hurts, it _hurts,_ his nipple’s gonna fall off—

“You know,” Sakusa says, voice light, “they do make gentler versions of these.”

Atsumu whines in pain on his next exhale, head spinning.

“But I didn’t think that was something you’d be interested in.”

Tears start to leak from the corners of Atsumu’s eyes. The pain is finally starting to fade—slowly, turning into something duller, more throbbing—and he whines again when the hand leaves his hair and presses in between their bodies to feel for his cock.

Sakusa groans lowly when he feels how hard Atsumu still is. Atsumu shivers at the sound. 

“Seems like I was right.”

Atsumu whines again, face burning with humiliation as Sakusa gives him a couple of long, slow strokes. The pain in his chest hasn’t completely settled yet, every sensation in his body morphing into a confusing sort of pleasure that makes his cock kick in Sakusa’s grip.

Then Sakusa lets go of the other end of the chain. For a split second, the pain returns full force as the clamp jostles and gravity tugs on his poor nipple; Atsumu chokes on his own spit and shivers before he feels a hand settle on the back of his neck, just above his collar. He basks in the feeling of Sakusa’s gentle fingers on his nape and, as the pain fades once more, wonders if it’s going to flare up like that with any tiny movement of the clamp.

Oh _god…_

“You’re doing very well, Atsumu,” Sakusa murmurs, still stroking his dick. “Can you sit up straight for me? I need to put the other one on.”

Shit. _The other one._ Atsumu’s eyes pop open when he realizes he has to go through that torture all over again. He whimpers loudly and tries to nudge closer to Sakusa’s body, protecting his nipples as much as he can with his arms cuffed behind his back.

Sakusa makes a noise of admonishment. “Atsumu. Sit up straight.”

His tone makes the collar around Atsumu’s neck feel heavier. Atsumu slowly does as he’s told, digging his nails into his palms as the clamp shifts again. He blinks a few tears away and tries to steady his gaze as he locks eyes with Sakusa, gut swooping with traitorous excitement. He moans as Sakusa tightens his grip on his cock.

“Oh, you’re literally _drooling_ for it,” Sakusa drawls, swiping a thumb over Atsumu’s chin. It comes away wet. “Are you really enjoying this that much?”

Atsumu averts his gaze and tries not to tremble as his face heats once more. He can’t help it if he can’t close his mouth all the way and drool ends up slipping out—Sakusa must know that. He moans when Sakusa uses his spit-slick fingers to play with the other nipple; Atsumu feels like his body is betraying him, nipple getting hard and perky just so he can go through the exquisite torture of the clamp all over again.

When Sakusa lets go, Atsumu knows the pain is coming. He squirms, pinned by the warm, sure weight of Sakusa on top of him; the steady glow of pleasure between his legs as Sakusa jerks him is making it harder to brace himself. It would be one thing if all he was feeling was pain, but like this—

The clamp closes around his nipple and Atsumu makes a guttural, inhuman noise through his teeth, jostling both clamps as he arches uselessly to try to escape the torment. It hurts more than the riding crop, more than anything they’ve done so far, and Atsumu feels like he’s having an out-of-body experience. He wails on his next breath, both nipples throbbing in agony as Sakusa speeds up the hand on his cock.

He feels a hand coax his jaw open and pry the corner of the condom wrapper from between his teeth. The next thing he feels are Sakusa’s lips on his; Atsumu makes a startled noise in between his groans of pain and submits to Sakusa’s tongue pressing between his slack lips, relearning the contours of his mouth. Sakusa shifts closer, rolling his hips like he did earlier, but this time there’s no barrier between them, their bare cocks rubbing against each other, the glide eased by the embarrassing amount of precome Atsumu’s been leaking.

“You take it so well,” Sakusa murmurs against him. “The pain.”

Atsumu feels like he’s floating as Sakusa wraps his hand around both of them. He isn’t able to fit all the way around, obviously, but the tightness and friction skyrockets and Atsumu moans, craning his neck up to lick eagerly into Sakusa’s mouth as Sakusa jerks both of them off at once.

The sensations in his nipples have faded to a warm, dull ache, throbbing in time with his heartbeat. Atsumu can’t breathe too deeply without jostling the clamps, so he takes in short, shallow breaths through his nose as Sakusa’s tongue moves against his own.

“Fuuuck,” he moans, muffling the word against Sakusa’s lips. “Fuck, _Omi…”_

Sakusa makes a low noise and loosens the grip he has around their cocks, then lets go completely. Atsumu doesn’t have time to bemoan the loss before he hears the telltale crinkle of foil; his hole clenches as he wonders how Sakusa’s going to fuck him in this position. 

Then Atsumu feels the press of latex against the tip of his own dick and his brain absolutely short-circuits as Sakusa rolls the condom down over him.

Is he—does this mean—is he going to—

Sakusa breaks the kiss and pulls back with a smirk. Atsumu blinks his eyes open, lips parted in shock.

“Omi?”

Suddenly it all clicks—the position, the way Sakusa’s taken everything off below the waist. Atsumu feels stupid for not having figured it out sooner. Has Sakusa really turned him into that much of a bottom?

“Shh.” Sakusa stands up, still straddling him, and reaches down to grip Atsumu’s cock and hold it steady. Atsumu’s going to pass out. “Stay still and be good for me, okay?”

 _“Omi,”_ Atsumu breathes, staring up at him with wonder. 

He—did he—in the shower, beforehand, he must have—

The slick pressure that greets the tip of his cock a second later is so warm and wet that it’s almost like the latex isn’t there at all. Atsumu’s mouth is still hanging open, brain not working fast enough to process what’s happening, especially when Sakusa starts to sink down oh-so-slowly and the pressure gives way to crushingly tight heat.

Atsumu throws his head back, gasping at the way the clamps shift on his nipples. “Oh my god—oh my _god,_ ohmygod—”

Sakusa makes a quiet noise but doesn’t stop, taking more and more until his ass is pressed to Atsumu’s thighs. Atsumu forces his eyes open and gets blindsided by the expression on Sakusa’s face, eyes shut tight and brows furrowed and teeth just barely sunk into his lower lip. It’s so nauseatingly hot that Atsumu knows right away he’ll never be able to forget it.

“Atsumu,” Sakusa breathes, eyes still closed. 

Atsumu blinks, spellbound. He can’t speak.

Sakusa cracks one eye open and the corner of his mouth quirks up at whatever he sees written all over Atsumu’s face. He loops one finger underneath the chain connecting Atsumu’s sore nipples and lifts up, up, _up_ until the pinch is burning again and Atsumu’s gasping and arching his back, trying to lessen the sensation. Sakusa makes a satisfied noise when Atsumu bucks up helplessly against him, cock slipping even deeper.

Then he drops the chain and Atsumu _keens_ at the pain _._ Sakusa’s smirk intensifies.

“You can come when I do,” he murmurs. “If you come before me, you’ll be punished.”

Atsumu blinks dumbly, thoughts running syrupy-slow as Sakusa lifts up then sinks back down for the first time. He thinks about the collar sitting warm and heavy around his throat and wonders if he’d enjoy praise or punishment more. 

Praise. He wants praise more. Sakusa could tell him he’s good, call him a good boy a thousand times and it still wouldn’t be enough.

_Fuck._

The slippery drag up and down his cock feels incredible. Sakusa is so hot inside that Atsumu feels like he’s melting. He shudders and whines, straining at the cuffs, wanting to reach out and put his hands all over Sakusa’s body.

“Does it feel good, Atsumu?” 

Sakusa hooks a finger into the ring at the front of Atsumu’s collar. Atsumu melts a little more, turning to putty in Sakusa’s hands, trying his best to stay still and let Sakusa use his cock. 

He cranes his neck up, wordlessly asking for another kiss, but Sakusa just tugs on the collar again. “Answer me.”

 _“Yes,”_ Atsumu breathes, gasping as Sakusa rocks down so forcefully their skin slaps together. Both of them moan. “Sofuckinggood—”

The rest of his babbling dies in his throat when Sakusa leans down and crushes their mouths together, forcing Atsumu to meet him halfway with the finger hooked in his collar even though Atsumu would have gone willingly. Atsumu groans against his lips, then nearly shouts when Sakusa lets go of his collar and flicks the very tip of each clamped nipple with both hands. They’re so much more sensitive than usual, like Atsumu can feel the blood pooling in them with no way to flow out. 

He breaks the kiss and throws his head back so hard he nearly gives himself whiplash when Sakusa scrapes a fingernail over each nipple. _“Fuck!”_

His cock twitches where it’s buried inside Sakusa’s body. It feels so good that Atsumu never wants to leave, except to let Sakusa fuck him. He feels unhinged, just barely hanging on to the thread of control that’s keeping him from coming too soon. He needs to be good. He needs Sakusa to be proud of him. He needs Sakusa to—

Blindingly intense pain explodes in Atsumu’s left nipple and he screams.

“Oh, Atsumu,” Sakusa purrs, pausing his movements and sitting down hard on Atsumu’s lap. “Look at you.”

There are tears leaking out of Atsumu’s eyes again. He pries them open, shaking horribly, and looks down to realize that Sakusa’s taken the left clamp off.

“It hurts even more, doesn’t it?” Sakusa asks softly, eyes dark. Atsumu grits his teeth and nods, nipple absolutely throbbing as the blood flows back into it. “I know. And you love it.”

A sob slips through Atsumu’s teeth. He squeezes his eyes shut, face burning as his hips stutter up, chasing more of that heat and making Sakusa hiss.

“Stay _still.”_

“M’sorry,” Atsumu sobs. 

He’s hyperaware of every sensation bombarding his body, all the way down to the sweat dripping down the small of his back. His nails dig into his palms so hard he’s sure he draws blood when Sakusa tugs sharply upward on the remaining clamp, pain blooming in his right nipple once more.

Atsumu opens his eyes when he feels fingers fiddling with his collar. His breath catches in his throat when he realizes Sakusa is threading the free clamp through the o-ring, connecting the chain to the collar. 

_“Omi…”_

Sakusa squeezes around him so firmly it feels deliberate. Atsumu groans, then whimpers when the tugging on his right nipple gets even sharper. Sakusa’s pulling the free clamp down, chain anchored through the collar’s o-ring, bringing it toward—

Oh no.

Oh _god,_ no.

“You know what to say if you want me to stop,” Sakusa murmurs, flicking his left nipple.

It’s gentle, but Atsumu is so sensitive it still makes him keen. He looks down at himself and bites his lip; his nipple is swollen and bright red from all the blood that just flowed back into it. And Sakusa’s going to—again—

A spark of traitorous excitement licks at the base of Atsumu’s spine.

Sakusa squeezes the clamp open, then lets it pinch shut at the base of Atsumu’s left nipple. Almost simultaneously, he releases the clamp from the other one.

Atsumu _screams_ as pain submerges him so forcefully that his mind goes white.

Kiyoomi is glad he ultimately decided to go with the clover clamps.

He’d had a bit of a back-and-forth in his mind when he was planning out the scene; he hadn’t used nipple clamps on Atsumu before, so Kiyoomi wasn’t sure if it was wise to start with the big guns. They aren’t adjustable like most other styles of clamps, they pinch _hard,_ and they get even tighter the more they’re pulled or played with. He spent some time this afternoon in a few of the online forums hosted by his kink community, posing the question to several other doms he trusts. 

The deciding factor ended up being a message from one of those doms that said, among other things, that clover clamps are only enjoyable for masochists.

And, well.

Kiyoomi’s decision was made there and then. And, as he watches Atsumu’s eyes roll back, leaking tears as his left nipple is pinched once more and the blood returns into his right, Kiyoomi knows it was the correct choice.

He lets the free clamp hang there, suspended from the o-ring and resting against Atsumu’s pec. He’ll have to tug a bit to reattach it, putting tension on both nipples at once, so he wants to give Atsumu a breather first. Luckily, he has other things he can focus on.

Kiyoomi threads a hand in Atsumu’s hair, scratching gently at his scalp as he plants the balls of his feet on the ground and starts to lift up, feeling Atsumu shift inside him. Oh, he feels so _good._ It’s been far too long since Kiyoomi’s done this.

He sits back down and groans at the deep press of Atsumu’s cock. Atsumu is panting, mouth lolled open, staring up at Kiyoomi like he’s having a religious experience. The expression is so delicious that Kiyoomi almost wishes he had his phone on him so he could capture and preserve it. All he can do is look his fill, rock his hips over and over as Atsumu’s eyelids flutter, threatening to close.

Pain always puts him under faster and deeper than anything else.

Kiyoomi bites his lip and speeds up his movements, their bodies slapping together in a lewd rhythm as Atsumu’s eyes cross the tiniest bit. Kiyoomi groans again and shoves three fingers between Atsumu’s plush lips, almost scaring himself with the savage need to _take_ as he presses deep enough that Atsumu gags. He pulls out a little and rubs his fingers over Atsumu’s tongue, more shallow than before, dick twitching as Atsumu starts to lick sloppily between each digit completely unprompted.

He’s _obscene_ like this. Kiyoomi knows this, has known it since their first scene together, yet it still surprises him every time.

He growls and stills himself once more, grabbing the free clamp with the hand that’s not fucking Atsumu’s mouth. Atsumu must feel what he’s doing because his eyes widen in panic and he whimpers around Kiyoomi’s fingers.

“You can take it, Atsumu,” Kiyoomi murmurs, rubbing his thumb over Atsumu’s lip. “I know you can.”

Atsumu whimpers again, louder, and Kiyoomi smiles and glances between them, pinching the clamp open before fitting it around Atsumu’s abused nipple. He pauses there for a second, letting the tension build, before he releases the clamp and it closes sharply around the swollen flesh.

The way Atsumu wails, ragged and muffled and devastated, sounds like surrender.

It goes straight to Kiyoomi’s dick.

He snarls Atsumu’s name, pulling his wet fingers free and wrapping them around where he’s achingly hard as he starts to fuck himself again, squeezing around Atsumu’s twitching cock. Kiyoomi feels so unhinged he has to stop himself from leaning down and licking the tears right off of Atsumu’s face.

 _“O-mi-i-i-i,”_ Atsumu hiccups, sobbing with every breath as Kiyoomi uses him.

Now that both clamps are attached, the connecting chain threaded through the o-ring on Atsumu’s collar, it’s easy to see that the chain is a bit too short for both clamps to sit comfortably in place. Instead, they’re tugging upward on both nipples without any effort on Kiyoomi’s part, jostling every time he slams down. It makes Kiyoomi’s cock twitch in his slippery grip and he moans, leaning down to force Atsumu into a bruising kiss as he jerks himself frantically and grinds his hips down over and over.

He groans when he leans forward even more and the angle pushes Atsumu’s cock against his prostate with every thrust inside. _Fuck,_ he’s getting close.

“Omi,” Atsumu gasps into his mouth. 

Kiyoomi bites his lip and jerks himself faster, breathless. “Mm?”

“Need—c’n I— _please—”_

“You want to come?” Kiyoomi grins, the power, the _control_ settling hot and heavy at the base of his dick, building him toward the edge. “You’re getting close— _fuck—_ when you’re in this much pain?”

Atsumu nods once, then groans and squirms at what the movement must do to the clamps. Oh, Kiyoomi is _close_.

“Wait for me,” he breathes, threading his free hand into Atsumu’s hair and yanking his head to the side, exposing his neck. It makes the clamps shift again and Atsumu _sobs._ “Fuck, you’re gonna make me come, I’m almost there—”

He sets his lips onto Atsumu’s throat just above his collar, forcing himself to stop running his mouth as he nears orgasm. Atsumu’s skin is soft and hot, the perfect place for Kiyoomi to muffle his moans as the cock inside him hits just right, and he grunts and sinks his teeth in when Atsumu rocks his hips up in a tiny, desperate movement. He told Atsumu to stay still, but Kiyoomi can’t be mad when movement gets him that extra bit deeper—

Fuck, he’s going to come. Then he’ll give Atsumu permission and when Atsumu finally does, Kiyoomi will—he’ll—

“Shit,” Kiyoomi groans, unlatching from Atsumu’s throat, hand flying over his cock. He leans back just enough to see the look on Atsumu’s face; it’s pure tortured bliss, eyes unfocused like he’s about to pass out, brow furrowed as he tries with all his might to hold back his orgasm.

What a good fucking boy.

Kiyoomi bites his lip and moans as he comes hard, painting Atsumu’s stomach as his body ripples around his cock. His eyes slip shut and he writhes through it, hips twisting. _Fuck,_ he forgot how good it feels to come with something inside him.

 _“Omi,”_ he hears Atsumu breathe.

Kiyoomi moans again, more come dribbling over his fingers as he forces his eyes open and drinks in the sight of Atsumu wearing his collar, completely fucked up and waiting patiently for permission to come. _Shit._

“You can come,” he manages, voice shaky as he tries to steady himself. He takes his hand off his cock but keeps rolling his hips, drawing out his orgasm and keeping things intense for Atsumu.

He doesn’t want to miss what’s about to happen.

Atsumu’s eyes finally flutter shut and he whimpers, tears leaking down his cheeks. Something twists in Kiyoomi’s chest. He almost feels bad as he watches Atsumu’s head fall back, back arching, cock pulsing so hard that Kiyoomi can _feel_ it as he starts to come—

Kiyoomi pinches both clamps between shaking fingers and releases them.

A choked wail cuts off in Atsumu’s throat and his body goes stiff as his eyes fly open. Kiyoomi feels his cock pulse inside him once more, then Atsumu’s eyebrows knit together and he lets out a hoarse scream, helpless and shaking and coming so hard his ass raises up off the seat, toes pressed into the carpet. His nipples are an angry red, swollen and inviting, and Kiyoomi can’t help himself when he slides his hands down Atsumu’s chest to take hold of them and pinch, swearing when Atsumu’s hips jump hard enough that Kiyoomi almost loses his balance.

As the afterglow slowly unspools, Kiyoomi realizes he’s never felt so greedy, so hungry for this. He takes a deep breath and, for just a few moments, lets himself bask in it. Just for a little bit, he lets himself eat his fill. 

Eventually, just a few after noticing that his hand is still sticky, Kiyoomi has to move. Atsumu spends a lot of his comedown whimpering, which Kiyoomi finds sadistically cute. After cleaning them up, he pulls on a pair of boxers and gets Atsumu onto the bed, head and shoulders resting on his cross-legged lap. He looks dazedly up at Kiyoomi.

“Hurts,” he explains and Kiyoomi chuckles.

“That’s kind of the point,” he says and Atsumu nods sagely. He’s out of it. “It’s going to hurt a bit more but I promise it’ll make it feel better later. Okay, Atsumu?”

Atsumu sighs a little, nearly pouting, but dutifully closes his eyes and says, “Okay.”

He really is endearing like this, when he’s basically drunk on endorphins. Kiyoomi reaches over to retrieve a small tube of lotion he set out earlier. The clover clamps don’t mess around and moisturizing is the best way to prevent chafing later. Kiyoomi gets a bit of it on the first two fingers of each hand, spreading and warming it up with his thumbs. 

Atsumu gasps and flinches when Kiyoomi makes contact with his abused nipples. When Kiyoomi begins to rub, as gently as possible, he lets out a wounded noise and tries to shy away at first. His eyes slide open to half mast when Kiyoomi’s fingers slide away from the most sensitive skin and over his pectorals, rubbing over them almost absently. Kiyoomi’s more focused on Atsumu’s face, loving to watch the way he surrenders to the pain even now.

As his eyes rake slowly down Atsumu’s body, he’s surprised to find a fresh bruise on Atsumu’s throat, right above the stark line of the collar. Kiyoomi blushes a bit as the memories of making it flood back to him, fucked-out and so close to coming he could taste it, needing an outlet for the pleasure he was feeling. He’s not in the habit of leaving hickeys like some teenager, but he can't help but smirk a little at the realization that he gave Atsumu an _actual_ hickey that the team can chirp him for.

The pads of Kiyoomi’s fingers press into the muscles of Atsumu’s chest soothingly, and he lets out a pleased sigh. 

Further down, he notices Atsumu’s cock is filling out against his hip again. Kiyoomi eyes it as he draws his fingers back over his sore nipples. His dick twitches sharply in response and Atsumu inhales but doesn’t fight Kiyoomi at all. Instead, his head is still lolled against Kiyoomi’s thigh, hair half matted to his forehead with sweat, eyes distant and glassy. 

Kiyoomi massages Atsumu’s chest, up over his sternum and up under his clavicles and shoulders, where tension built up during the scene. He moans happily and a smile pulls at Kiyoomi’s lips. He pushes Atsumu’s hair out of his face, which makes him look up. His lips are parted and his irises are hazy pools of heat. 

In spite of what Atsumu let him do for the past hour, it still strikes him in this moment how much Atsumu trusts his body in Kiyoomi’s hands. He could do anything to him right now. He would probably get more resistance from a doll. 

He really did plan to just apply a little lotion and get on with aftercare, but… there’s no reason to ignore the opportunity for more play when it’s there. Atsumu’s body looks willing, cock fattening up nice and pretty the more Kiyoomi touches him.

He goes back to rubbing the last of the lotion into Atsumu’s nipples, just barely pinching, gently enough that it can be written off as a press of fingers if Atsumu calls him on it. He doesn’t, though, just furrows his brow the tiniest bit as he stares unseeingly at the bedspread, breath huffing out in soft, wet little pants. 

“You really did do well today, Atsumu,” Kiyoomi murmurs. “You know those clamps aren’t for beginners. And you took them so perfectly.”

Atsumu hums, pleased and basking in the praise. Kiyoomi rubs his thumbs around the outside of his nipples, carefully avoiding the raw nubs at the center. Atsumu’s hips twitch. Kiyoomi wonders if he’s even aware that he’s being worked back up on purpose or if he’s just giving in to what his body—and Kiyoomi—wants. 

“This was good for me today, too,” Kiyoomi says, bringing his hand down to trail over Atsumu’s thickening cock. “I think you’ve earned an extra reward after that.”

Awareness flickers in Atsumu’s eyes, but Kiyoomi doesn’t get more than a breathed version of his name. Atsumu’s flexing hips give a much clearer response. 

It’s simple from there. More lotion is spread into Kiyoomi’s palm as he shifts himself so Atsumu is at a diagonal in his lap, at a much better angle for Kiyoomi to reach down and wrap his hand around Atsumu’s cock. 

He doesn’t really tease or draw it out. He meant it when he told Atsumu that this was a reward. He uses his free hand to gently play with Atsumu’s sore chest as he brings the other man to full hardness. He lets Atsumu wiggle and writhe as he likes, slowly intensifying as Kiyoomi strokes him firmly. 

There’s a sort of intimate purity to this, watching the pleasure bloom in Atsumu’s tired, unresisting body. It makes Kiyoomi swallow, tongue feeling a bit thick in his mouth. 

It feels like it’s only minutes before Atsumu is whispering _Omi_ into the air as he spills over Kiyoomi’s fist. 

“Good,” Kiyoomi murmurs as Atsumu’s chest heaves and he wipes his hand on the towel nearby. “Good, Atsumu. You earned that one.”

He cards his fingers through Atsumu’s hair one last time before sliding out from beneath him to retrieve the fleece blanket. Then Kiyoomi begins his usual routine, a deep thrum of satisfaction resonating in his bones. 

A bath, some macarons, and a volleyball game and change later, Atsumu pushes himself up off Kiyoomi’s couch to get ready to leave. Kiyoomi startles a little, realizing he’d been close to dozing on his couch himself. He’s sure Atsumu must be feeling it more, the body always exhausted after pain play. In fact...

“Do you want me to call you a ride?” he asks as Atsumu pulls his coat on over the old Itachiyama hoodie Kiyoomi gave him after the bath. Even after soaking in the hot water, he’d been having a bit of trouble not shivering. Providing him the high school swag also had the bonus effect of clashing horribly with Atsumu’s hair, to Kiyoomi’s grim delight. “I can pick you up before practice tomorrow afternoon and give you a ride back here to your car after, if you don’t have anywhere to be tomorrow morning.”

Atsumu chuckles, “The only place I’m gonna be tomorrow mornin’ is in bed. So, actually, yeah, if it’s no trouble?”

Kiyoomi shrugs in dismissal as he pulls out his phone to bring up a rideshare app. Atsumu’s place is on the way to the training facility anyway. It never takes him much extra time to swing by Atsumu’s apartment. 

Atsumu’s just tying his shoes when Kiyoomi finishes ordering a ride. Kiyoomi pulls himself up off the couch to collect their teacups and bring them into the kitchen. When Kiyoomi gets back, Atsumu is fiddling with his phone but not looking at it, oddly quiet. 

“Hey,” he says, and Kiyoomi looks up from where he was going to refold the throw blanket that Atsumu had availed himself of after the bath. Atsumu bites his lip, brow a bit furrowed. “I just… I wanna be clear about what happened last week, that it was a total fuck-up. It’s not gonna happen again. Actually, I’ve even been too busy to hook-up at all this season… and with how well the team is doin’, I doubt that’s changin’ any time soon.”

He says the last with a bit of a chuckle, scratching the back of his head. 

“Just, ya know, for yer information,” he finishes out and Kiyoomi can’t help but smirk a little. 

“And here I thought you just gained some discretion since high school,” Kiyoomi teases, remembering the way that Atsumu used to strut around and flirt when they were that age.

He can’t lie that a twinge of warm satisfaction sparks through him at the news that Atsumu isn’t planning on seeking anyone else in the immediate future. Apparently his performance hasn’t been _that_ unsatisfying after all. He fights off a full-on grin, managing to temper it down into a more casual smirk. 

“Anyway, who you have sex with is your business, as long as I don’t have to feel partially responsible for you ending up in the paper for death by erotic asphyxiation,” Kiyoomi says as he finishes folding up the blanket. 

“Right,” Atsumu says after a longer than normal pause. 

Kiyoomi thinks he hears something weird in Atsumu’s voice; he worries for a second that his joke was a bit too dark, but when he looks up Atsumu has already turned around. Atsumu half-glances over his shoulder, just his nose and the top of his cheek visible. 

“Anyway, I’m… m’gonna wait downstairs. I’ll bring your hoodie back when it’s washed.”

“Thanks. I’ll text you when I’m on my way to practice,” Kiyoomi says as Atsumu opens the door.

“Sounds good. G’night, Omi.”

The door clicks. Kiyoomi lays the blanket over the back of the couch. He stretches his neck and wrists, a wry smile still hovering on his lips, riding high off a good scene and the knowledge that they’ve successfully put the past week behind them.

He heads down the hallway, already musing over what they’ll do next time. 

**Author's Note:**

> Once more, with feeling: Oh Atsumu, we're really in it now.
> 
> P.S. The response continues to blow us away. Thank you so much for all of your kind comments, posts, and messages. They truly do keep us going. <3


End file.
